


Two Women Walk Onto a Plane

by jackjack520



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Illness, Near Death Experiences, Oblivious Phil Coulson, Past Child Abuse, Past physical abuse, Self-Harm, basically i took canon and made it more angsty, mama may, past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6891430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackjack520/pseuds/jackjack520
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye/Daisy is good at reading people, and she's good at comforting people. How did she get to be that way? How did she cope with the emotional trauma she dealt with as a child? She's adopted some unhealthy coping mechanisms over the years, including self-harm.<br/>Jemma insists that she's fine. But being a perfectionist and not fitting in anywhere as a child took its toll, and she doesn't know how to stop pushing herself to be better, to gain more control. She developed an eating disorder years ago, but that's all over now, right?<br/>Throw a bunch of messed up, traumatized people together on a plane, and secrets will come out. Two scared girls grow closer through their shared brokenness. Meant to be in character and in the canon universe, just missing scenes of stuff I think could have happened. Starts at the beginning of season one and progresses from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mary Sue was curled up under the bed. The little girl next to her – Jessie – flinched each time the meaty fist pounded against the other side of the bedroom door. Jessie was smaller than her, and she was crying, fast, silent sobs that shook her body. Mary Sue felt her quaking against her and knew that she had to keep the girl safe. Jessie was smaller than her, and besides, she could take it. She was ten, practically grown up. And it was nothing she hadn’t dealt with before.   
_“I know you’re in there,”_ the voice roared, and Jessie whimpered. Mary Sue shushed her and petted her hair, whispering nonsense, telling her it would be okay. The pounding continued, growing louder and more forceful, and Mary Sue knew their foster dad was throwing his shoulder against the door, trying to force it open. She gritted her teeth and slit out from under the bed, telling Jessie to stay where she was and not to come out for anything.  
  
Mary Sue stood, fists clenched, feet planted on the floor, and waited. She was shaking, and tears winked in the corners of her eyes, but she stared at the door with a determined look on her face. It flew open with the sound of splitting wood, and she jumped, but didn’t back away. A man twice her size flung himself at her, and she saw the fist sailing toward her face.  
  
Skye woke with a gasp, wrenching her eyes open and flinging herself upward, bringing herself to a sitting position on the bed. Air hissed in and out of her mouth and her whole body shook. She gripped the bedcovers with both fists and tried to force herself to breathe, sucking in air like she was drowning. She brought her hand to her other wrist, pinching desperately at the delicate skin, watching blood rise to the surface and feeling the sharp pain. She felt her heartbeat become more regular. Skye rubbed her fists against her eyes, wiping away tears as she came back to herself. Her breath became more consistent as she calmed. “You’re not there,” she told herself. “You’re on the Bus, with SHIELD.” This fact seemed almost as ridiculous to her as the thought of being trapped back in one of her worst foster homes; Skye, working with SHIELD? They were her sworn enemy, they represented everything she hated. And they had answers to questions she had been asking for a long time.  
  
Skye swung her legs over the side of the bed, shaking her head like she could shake loose the memories and nightmares, and looked around the bunk, now officially _her_ bunk for a whole week. Her bags lay on the floor, half-empty, with clothes strewn around them. The closet door stood open, revealing an empty closet, a symbol of temporary arrangements and uncertain futures. She hated unpacking – hated the tangible act of claiming a space as her own, hated feeling tied to a location, hated having to pack it all back up later when she realized it wasn’t really home. She stood, exited the tiny room, and headed toward the kitchen.  
  
\------  
  
Jemma was staring at the open refrigerator, forehead crinkled in thought. She didn’t know what she wanted. Was she thirsty? Did she want juice, tea? Was she hungry for carbs or fruit? Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, and she closed the fridge door with a sigh. She would make tea. That was a safe choice, and if it was hunger she was feeling, the tea would at least make her feel full for a while.  
  
Jemma was just flipping on the electric kettle when Skye shuffled into the kitchen. She was wearing a sweatshirt over pajama pants, and her hair was in a messy ponytail that spilled over her shoulder. She yawned and smiled at Jemma. “You’re up late.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Or early, I guess. Did something wake you?”  
  
Jemma shrugged. She hadn’t exactly woken up so much as just never fallen asleep. Her mind would never rest quietly, and she often found that she was awake long after everyone else on the Bus. “How are you, Skye?” she asked, directing the attention away from herself. “Having trouble sleeping?”  
  
“Nah,” she answered, throwing herself into one of the kitchen stools along the counter, causing it to spin. Jemma smiled to herself; she loved how Skye seemed to own every room she walked into, making herself at home. “I just woke up and didn’t feel like going back to sleep right away.”  
  
Jemma nodded. “I often feel restless at night as well,” she admitted. “There’s just so much going on in my head, it almost feels irresponsible to go to sleep.”  
  
“Really?” Skye smiled at her. “Huh. No rest for the geniuses among us, I suppose,” Skye quipped. “I don’t have exactly that problem, I was just woken up by a not-so-great dream.” Skye’s smile faltered a little, but she pressed on. “It’s nice not to be the only one awake, though.” Her smile returned, and she went to the cupboard, pulling two mugs down from a shelf. “Hot chocolate?” she asked Jemma, as she pulled a packet of chocolate powder from a drawer.  
  
Jemma shook her head. “Just tea for me,” she said, gesturing to the tin of tea bags she kept on a high shelf. It was her special tea, she had brought it with her knowing that whatever was provided on the American-run plane would be paltry in comparison. Jemma considered what Skye had said about her dreams as she prepared her tea; she wanted to ask about it, but she didn’t really know Skye that well, and she didn’t want to seem pushy.  
  
“Do you want to talk about you dream?” she finally asked, once they were both seated, sipping on their hot drinks.  
  
Skye shrugged and shook her head, but spoke anyway. “Just old crap that doesn’t matter anymore. I went through a lot of foster families, and not all of them were great.”  
  
Jemma’s brow furrowed as she sipped the tea. She felt sorry for Skye, and whatever she had gone through as a child, but she wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and hoped it was the right thing.  
  
Skye shook her head again, smiling. “Not your fault,” she said. “Not anyone’s fault, really. It’s just something that happened.”  
  
Jemma nodded. She wondered if Skye really felt that way, like there was no one to blame for whatever had happened to her. _I would be angry,_ she thought, _if someone had mistreated me._ Her stomach grew cold for a moment, a flash of something running through her veins, as a distant memory tried to surface. She shook her head, pushing away any thoughts of herself or her family. No one had hit her, or hurt her in any way. Her parents had done their best. What more could she ask of them?  
  
“Hey,” Skye said, shaking Jemma from her thoughts. “You okay over there?”  
  
“Sorry,” Jemma said, “I must have drifted off for a moment.”  
  
Skye nodded. “It is pretty late,” she said. “We should probably get back to bed.”  
  
They stood, carrying their mugs to the kitchen sink. Skye washed her own, then reached for Jemma’s. “You going to finish that?”  
  
Jemma shook her head, dumping her remaining half mug of tea and handing it to Skye. She washed Jemma’s as well, lining them up carefully on a dishtowel. “Goodnight, Jemma,” she said, and disappeared down the narrow hallway toward her bunk.  
  
“Goodnight, Skye,” Jemma said quietly to the disappearing shadow. She plodded toward her own bed, sighing to herself. She hoped her mind would let her rest. Her stomach let out a growl, and she grimaced, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in her gut as she laid down and cocooned herself in blankets to ward off the chill she could never shake from her fingers and toes. Her eyes fluttered closed; she slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during and post season 1 episode 5. A few lines of dialogue are taken from the episode. The flashback refers to what Skye revealed about her past in season 1 episode 3.  
> Skye is feeling particularly awful after betraying the team to protect Miles, her boyfriend. The fallout includes not only revelations about why she joined the team, but some pretty heavy emotions that Skye has no idea how to deal with. And so she deals with them in the only was she knows how - by taking her guilt and shame out on herself. She later seeks out connection and finds Jemma, who is more calming than she knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bumping up the rating on this fic because there's a fairly explicit description of self-harm in this chapter, and I think it's all a bit much for a teen rating. I'm new to this though, so I'd appreciate some feedback on what you all think the appropriate rating is for something like this. Very self-harm-centric in this chapter, so mind your triggers. I know I've been pretty Skye-focused so far, but don't worry, Jemma is in the spotlight in the next chapter. I've only hinted at what she's got going on so far but I'm hoping the next chapter will give you a clearer picture. Feedback gives me life.

It was raining the day Mrs. Brody dropped Mary Sue off at St. Agnes’. She twisted the strap of her backpack around and around her hand, feeling the weave bite into her palm, squeezing it tighter and tighter as she held her breath. She was melting. The rain splattered against her face and head, dripping down her neck, and Mary Sue could feel it, could feel how it soaked into the pigtails Mrs. Brody had tied her hair into before telling her she was going back to the orphanage, but it was like feeling rain on a stranger’s skin. She was melting down to nothing inside herself, sinking deeper and deeper, the world fading at the edges.  
Her eyes stayed on the ground as she was led inside. Without pause, she trudged up the flights of steps to her room. Two sets of bunk beds crowded the bedroom, but none of the other children were there. She dropped her bag and her body hit the mattress with a force that surprised her. Something was rising inside her chest, forcing her blood more quickly through her veins. Something monstrous was growing in her and she didn’t know if she was going to scream or cry, or maybe just shatter into a million glass shards. She bit into her lip so hard that she tasted metal, a drop of blood wetting her lips. She was stuck, wanting to scream but being so far inside herself that she couldn’t escape. Blood rushed in her ears, and her breath rasped in and out. She was nothing. No one. Unwanted, unloved, unraveled. Her fist hit the mattress experimentally. She started punching, again and again, but the bed was too soft, giving way under her anger.  
She stood, eyes wild, looking around for something, something. Her gaze fell on the dresser that stood between the sets of beds, and she turned to it swiftly, her fist lashing out wildly. She didn’t know what she was aiming for, just that she wanted to hit. Her fist missed entirely, and she cried out as the sharp edge gouged into her wrist. She stopped, breathing heavily, watching as beads of blood rose to the surface of her skin. She felt calmer, somehow. Satisfied.  
And then another hand was wrapping around her injured wrist, holding it gently. Mary Sue looked up, surprised to see Sister McKenna there.  
“I’m sorry, Mary Sue,” Sister McKenna said quietly. The elderly sister was looking at her, unblinking, her face passive. There was no pity, no blame, just calm.  
“I wanted them to like me,” Mary Sue admitted. At nine years old, this was her third placement. She was no stranger to being sent away. But this one hurt in a new, sharp way that made it hard to breathe.  
Sister McKenna nodded. “Hope can hurt sometimes.” They sat on her bed in silence for a while, Mary Sue drifting deep inside herself, Sister McKenna sitting next to her, calmly cleaning and bandaging her wrist. “You’ll try again,” the Sister said finally. Mary Sue bit at her lip, staring at her lap. She was scared to try again, scared of how badly she hurt right now, scared the hurt would last forever, multiplying with each new family that sent her away. “You’re a very brave girl, Mary Sue,” the Sister said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It takes a lot of bravery to have hope. So have hope, and try again.”  
\------  
“Follow me.”  
Skye stared at Ward like he had suddenly sprouted a second head. Her wrists were still frozen in place on the table between her and Miles, despite Ward having unlocked the cuffs moments ago. Were they finally sending her away? Had they decided to just dump her and Miles off the plane, tell Skye that they had obviously made a huge mistake and she should go back to her van? She rubbed her wrists and took a deep breath, steeling herself to walk off the bus without a second glance.  
“Skye.” Ward’s voice was sharp. “We have a crisis situation. Now both of you stand up and _follow me_.”  
She stood immediately, glancing at Miles as he moved to follow her out of the room, obviously as confused as she was. Ward explained the situation, that they needed Skye and Miles to hack a Centipede facility, that Coulson and May were inside. When Skye explained that she needed to be inside the building, a faint flame of hope flickered inside her. She would make herself useful again. She would save Coulson and May, even if they sent her away. And later, when she was alone, she’d atone for her screw-up.  
And then they were running; running down hallways with Ward, hacking the computer system, and running toward the exit, trying to beat a fireball flying behind them as Chan Ho Yin went up in flames. She nearly ran headlong into Coulson as she came around a corner, and his hand came up to push against her back, driving her forward. For a split second, it almost felt protective. He ran behind her like he was guarding her. The flame in her chest grew a little stronger. The four of them came barreling out of the building and watched Scorch live up to his name, turning into a macabre pyrotechnic display.  
“You can’t save someone from themselves, sir,” Ward said quietly, looking at Coulson, reading the somber expression on his face.  
“You can if you get to them early enough.” And then Coulson was looking at her. Skye’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes dropped to the ground. She could feel all the shame in the world pile on top of her chest. She wanted this _so badly_. She wanted to really belong at SHIELD, instead of being the awkward hayseed newbie. They had given her a chance at that, and she blew it. But now Coulson was looking at her, and speaking as if he still had hope – for _her_. She felt a warmth in her chest, and allowed herself to hope. She still had so much to pay for, but maybe she could bring the scales back into balance.  
It was easy to say goodbye to Miles. She had missed him, but that longing had been for someone else. Someone who, it turned out, didn’t actually exist. Miles couldn’t live up to what she’d wanted him to be. And she sent him away with a straight face and a guarded heart. But as she headed to Coulson’s office – probably to be sent away herself – she couldn’t resist pausing when she saw Ward. He was her S.O., her teacher, her lifeline. If he would just reach out and take her back, maybe the twist in her gut and pressure in her heart would subside.  
“I’m off the clock,” he said, when she asked him to come with her to see Coulson. And Skye accepted that. Wasn’t that exactly what she had just done to Miles? Wasn’t rejection the natural result of betrayal?  
Coulson didn’t mince words. He cut her off as she tried to explain everything that had gone wrong, why she had gone to meet Miles, why she had kept it all a secret. “Why are you here?” Coulson almost shouted. But what she heard was that she still had a chance at redemption, if she would just lay bare her one desperate, precious secret. And so she did, pulling the chip from where it was tucked in her bra and laying it on the desk between them.  
“It’s everything I have,” she croaked. And then she explained how SHIELD was the link between herself and her parents. “I will never stop looking.” Her voice had more mettle now. She was going to find where she belonged, with or without SHIELD. She had survived on her own so far; she could do it for a little while longer.  
When Coulson offered to help, she thought she would float out of her chair. She didn’t know what to feel. Relief at not being sent away, shock at his offer, so much guilt for her betrayal. She slapped the metal bracelet on her wrist with finality. It was good to have the heavy weight of it, a solid reminder of everything wrong with her. She didn’t deserve Coulson’s help, not yet. But maybe she could earn it.  
Skye shuffled through the plane towards her bunk, her eyes on the floor. She was glad when she didn’t run into anyone. The door slid closed behind her and she sat on the bed, scooting across the mattress until her back hit the wall. She pulled her makeup bag out of a drawer and fished out a utility knife from the bottom, sliding the blade out of the handle, hearing the click-click-click of it. The waist of her pants was pulled down, rolled towards her knees to expose the tops of her thighs. For a moment, she ran her fingers over the thin, silvery scars that marked the smooth skin. A record, to help her remember. She already felt better, before the blade came anywhere near its target. She held her breath each time she pulled the knife across her thigh, releasing the breath which a whoosh after every cut. She stopped when the droplets of blood were threatening to run together and spill over onto the bed.  
Skye mopped at her skin with a tissue and hissed as the sting set in. This was better. Everything was better when she could apologize to the universe. Sometimes it was an apology for being worthless, or stupid, or just so inherently wrong. Other time she had to apologize for being here, for being herself and in the world, a world where she didn’t fit. No one knew but her and Miles. She felt embarrassed about that now. He had found her when she was cold and alone, doped up and drunk out of her mind, just trying to forget that she existed for a few hours. They had stumbled back to her van together, Skye giggling and trying to unzip his pants. But instead of letting her, he had held her hands still, and held her hair back while she puked up her bad choices, and when she was sober, they had talked for hours. Of course she had eventually been successful in getting his pants off, but that had been weeks later.  
She remembered the first night they had had sex, and how after, he had been lying beside her, running his hands gently over her skin. His hand paused at her thigh, his brow wrinkling at the change in texture. He had looked at the bumps and scars and tender scabs, and had placed kisses on them while Skye let quiet tears slip down her face and into her hair. She had never told anyone else, and no other hookup had ever stuck around to notice.  
Skye shook her head, scattering the memories from her consciousness. _He’s gone,_ she thought. _Whatever I thought he was, he wasn’t._ But something still nagged at her, a gnawing sensation in her gut. She felt needy and small, and wished that Ward hadn’t sent her away earlier. She felt… hungry. Not in the traditional sense, but in the way a baby was hungry to be held.  
Of course, Skye was a full-grown woman, and there was no one left to hold her. She stood, pulling her clothes back into position, and left her bunk. She felt a bit less self-conscious now, being on the bus and in view of the team. She knew she had seriously screwed up, and they all hated her now, but that was okay. She deserved it. The cuts on her leg and the sting she could still feel lifted just enough of the shame off her chest for her to bear the weight of it.  
Skye shuffled toward the kitchen. She couldn’t ignore her need to be near another person right now, even if that person hated her. She smiled when she saw Jemma and Fitz in the kitchen. Jemma smiled back.  
“Hello, Skye,” Jemma said cheerfully, looking at her with kind eyes. She was just topping a sandwich with a final slice of bread, sliding the plate over to Fitz. Fitz glanced up at her and mumbled something like hello before picking up the sandwich and taking a sizeable bite. Then he snatched up the plate and wandered toward the common area, leaving Jemma and Skye alone in the kitchen.  
“Don’t worry about him,” Jemma said warmly. “He’ll be alright in a day or two. He was just surprised about Miles, that’s all.”  
Skye nodded. A bit of coldness was hardly more than she deserved after lying to her friends. “I’m really sorry,” she said, nibbling at her lip and looking up at Jemma through her lashes.  
Jemma shook her head. “I know you are,” she said. “I’ll admit I was a bit surprised at all of this, but I can hardly blame you for having your secrets; after all, we haven’t known each other that long. A secret boyfriend is hardly the worst thing a person could hide. I do, of course, wish you hadn’t lied to protect him, but that’s all over now and no harm done.”  
Skye nodded, but she could hardly believe it. Jemma certainly sounded sincere. Of course, maybe Jemma hadn’t considered her that close of a friend in the first place, and so the betrayal didn’t mean much.  
“I won’t do anything like that again,” Skye said seriously.  
Jemma nodded absently, settling herself into one of the counter stools beside Skye. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’ve just made Fitz a snack, it would be no trouble to make you a sandwich if you’d like.”  
And it was this, of all things, that was too much for Skye to bear. It was all exactly what she needed – the forgiveness, the kindness, the thoughtful offer to feed her of all things, as if her hunger was the most pressing matter at the moment. Skye fell forward against Jemma’s chest, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug, as she sniffled into her shoulder.  
“Oh!” Jemma let out a small sound of surprise, but her arms automatically rose up to wind around Skye’s back, pulling her in.  
“Thank you,” Skye croaked. She was being ridiculous, so clingy and dramatic, but she hoped Jemma would forgive this too.  
Jemma patted her back a bit awkwardly, but said, “Of course. So… is that a yes to the sandwich then?”  
Skye laughed and nodded, pulling back from Jemma and rubbing at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “It’s just been a really crazy day.”  
Jemma patted her on the shoulder and got up to assemble a snack for her. “Don’t worry about a thing, Skye,” she said. “Everything is alright now.”  
“What about you?” Skye asked. “Are you hungry?” She really meant, are you okay, did I hurt you too badly when I slipped away behind your back to go bang my duplicitous secret boyfriend who turned out to be a little bit of a douche.  
Jemma shook her head, curls bouncing around her smiling face. “No, I’m alright,” she said, and Skye shrugged. Maybe Jemma didn’t need her all that much – she didn’t need much of anything, it seemed – but Skye liked her anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during and after season 1 episode 6.  
> Trigger warnings for major illness, childhood trauma, emotional abuse, eating disorders, and near-death experiences apply to this chapter.

The black pavement radiated with the heat of the July sun, a wave of stale hot air hitting Jemma’s face with a whoosh as the large hospital doors slid open. Her mother and father walked ahead. Jemma’s breath huffed in short bursts, in and out between chapped lips, her heart fluttering in her chest as she followed. She was glad to be out of the large, stone building full of beeping machines and fluorescent light and doctors who stared impassively while saying her dad had cancer. 

The family slid dully into the seats of the station wagon. They sat in silence as Jemma’s mother began crying again, sniffling into a shredded tissue clamped between her fingers. Her dad leaned over to pat mum’s shoulder. Jemma stuck the end of one pigtail in her mouth and gnawed on it, her skinny legs sticking to the vinyl seats as she perspired in the heat. Her ribs felt too tight around her middle. 

“I just have no idea what we’re going to do,” her mum sobbed out. Then, her eyes flashing to Jemma, “Stop that disgusting habit, you’re twelve years old, not two.” The sudden snap made Jemma jump, dropping her braid and sitting on her hands to ensure she wasn’t tempted to resume chewing her hair. 

“How are we going to _manage_ this, Arnold? And I’ll have to drive you to all your treatments.” Her mum slipped back into her lamentations as if she had never stopped to correct Jemma. Dad just nodded, patting her shoulder and staring at the floor of the car. 

Jemma’s stomach roiled with something – guilt, worry, dread – and she wondered what she should be saying, what she should be doing. Mum was upset. That meant she should be listening to her, making her feel better. But dad was ill. Shouldn’t someone be making dad feel better?

“It’ll be alright, dad,” she said quietly. He glanced back at her, looking pained, but gave a little smile. Mum’s eyes snapped to her, and Jemma could have sworn she looked angry for a moment before she turned to dad.

“Yes, of course Arnold, everything will be fine. We’ll have you healthy again in no time.” Mum was smiling now, holding dad’s hand as if to comfort him, but Jemma thought she looked a bit unhappy at the sudden turn in the conversation.

The car roared to life as dad turned the key, and they drove to a burger place, where Jemma poked at her fries and listened to her mother’s anxious thoughts about how to proceed from here. She tried to be very quiet and very still. She had found that the best thing to do when her mother was in this state was to simply empty herself, become a sponge with which to sop up all of mum’s sadness and anxiety. And oh, how much there was to absorb now. Once home, dad went to bed, leaving Jemma sitting at the kitchen table while mum scrubbed dishes and cried into the soapy water. 

“This is exactly the kind of thing that would happen to me,” mum said, her voice wavering. “I suppose I wasn’t meant to have a happy life. _No_ , Jemma, that mixing bowl goes on _top_ of the pie pans.”

Jemma winced. She was attempting to dry and put away the dishes, but she always seemed to do it wrong, never remembering the specific locations and stacking order that her mother preferred. Her mother began to cry again. Jemma cursed herself for being so stupid and lazy that she couldn’t even help her mother with a simple chore. “Sorry, mum,” she whispered.

Later, Jemma lay in bed, attempting to process all the events of the day. Her stomach ached and her head felt fuzzy. Was she upset? Worried? She didn’t know. She supposed she must be. Mostly she just felt hollow, like a glass jar being filled with every emotion that flowed through her mum. Her mum was so upset, she couldn’t possibly hold it all herself. Jemma would do her best to hold it for her.

\------

Jemma’s face fell into a perfect mask of calm acceptance as the last lab rat fell dead. She was out of ideas; there was no way to save herself from the alien virus. Instantly, all of her emotions were swallowed up into the dark. Breaking down would only make this worse.

She thought she should probably be more upset about her situation. Oh, she was definitely upset, but not for herself – Fitz was so distraught, and she had put Coulson in a terrible position. The minutes were counting down now. Soon, she would die, and her body would be suspended by the electromagnetic charge of the alien virus. Her stomach twisted and her breath caught in her lungs at the thought of Fitz staring wide-eyed at her corpse in that state. Somewhere deep in her center, fear fluttered. She didn’t want to die. Jemma roughly shoved the thought away. This was no time for selfish thoughts of self-preservation. She couldn’t let her friends be hurt. She would protect them.

Jemma turned to Coulson, standing outside the glass. She knew she had to get off the plane, knew Coulson would have been ordered to throw her off some time ago, and that he had ignored the order. She couldn’t let him endanger himself and the others any longer. They argued, but Coulson refused to let her do the right thing. And then he was walking away, leaving her with Fitz. 

Poor Fitz, always so caught up in his emotions. She could read the panic on his face as if the emotion was her own. He was so afraid for her to die, for him to be left alone, without her. She had to save him, make this easier for him. She felt terrible about knocking him out with the fire extinguisher, but she knew he’d forgive her, after she was gone. And then she was walking briskly toward the back of the plane. She opened the bay door and stood on the edge. Panic and sorrow began to well up, and she couldn’t stop the tears that began streaming down her face. She heard her name and turned to see Fitz, just before allowing her body to sway over the edge, dropping into empty space.

And then it was falling and a scream ripping from her and the sudden pressure of Ward wrapping his arms around her as the parachute shot open, jarring her as it snapped them out of their rapid descent. Ward stuck her with an injection. She barely had a moment to process the fact that she wasn’t dead, that she was wrapped safely around Ward and floating slowly toward the ocean before an electric bolt ran through her, making her seize as the virus ran its course. But she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead, and now she was in the ocean and the waves were crashing around her and she was spluttering and holding onto Ward to stay above water but it was wonderful because she was alive.

Jemma’s face went from a mix of terror and sorrow to a grin. She whooped, throwing her head back and laughing as Ward tread water, supporting both of them. They had done it, her and Fitz. They had found the cure. It didn’t take long for the Bus to descend and hover over them, and Ward pulled them both up and out of the water so they could climb up the ladder tossed out the bay door. She was shaking, a result of both the adrenaline still in her system and the cold salt water. She collapsed onto the deck of the plane and into Fitz’s arms. He was holding onto her and chanting, “Jemma, Jemma, Jemma,” in a distraught voice. She just held onto him and grinned. 

Eventually she was helped to her bunk and was allowed a few minutes in peace to pull on warm, dry clothes and comb out her tangled hair. Fitz had gone to his own bunk, after Jemma had insisted that she was alright and told him to go lie down before he collapsed from exhaustion. 

Jemma looked up when Ward tapped on her door and slid it open. “Debriefing with Coulson, right now.” He turned and walked away. Jemma followed him, apprehensive but still so relieved to be alive that she hardly cared what happened next. It was a bit of a rude shock, however, when Coulson started yelling. She had sort of expected him to understand, maybe even offer a bit of praise for her self-sacrifice. 

“We’d hate to lose you, Jemma,” Coulson said finally, his voice dropping some of its volume and his face softening just a bit. She let a small smile return to her face as a warmth spread through her body. They’d hate to lose her. She didn’t know if that was really true – she certainly thought losing her in order to avoid contaminating the entire bus with the alien virus would be a fair trade – but Coulson seemed like he meant what he said. 

She was still glowing with the warmth of what Coulson had just said to her when she left his office, teasing Ward and laughing at his self-impression when Skye popped into her field of vision. Jemma could see the tear stains on her face, and her stomach instantly dropped. She remembered how Skye had burst into tears, how she had sobbed inconsolably when she realized Jemma’s last attempt at the cure had apparently failed. Jemma had caused her so much pain, and Skye must be so angry with her. 

She smiled tentatively. “Hello, Skye,” she said quietly, looking away. And then Skye ran at her and threw her arms around her, causing a breath to “oomph” out of her as she was crushed in the hug. Jemma couldn’t help the grin that broke out across her face as she leaned into Skye’s warm body. Of course Skye wasn’t angry – she was _Skye_. 

After a few long moments, Jemma gently extricated herself from Skye’s embrace and took her hand instead. “Come on,” she said with a smile. “Let’s go sit down. You look exhausted.”

Skye let out a shaky laugh. “I’m should be comforting you, Jemma. You’re the one who had a near-death experience today. How are you feeling?”

Jemma just smiled and shrugged. “I’m fine, really. No worse for wear.”

Skye looked skeptical, rubbing a hand up and down Jemma’s arm as if to warm her. “You should probably get some sleep. Or, oh, how about some food? Have you eaten? You were locked in the lab all day and I didn’t even think – I should have brought you something to eat in there, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. You must be starving. Come on.”

Jemma’s smile faltered as Skye tugged her toward the kitchen. A tendril of anxiety wound up her throat. She couldn’t imagine eating right now. She knew she needed to, that it had been too long since her last meal and she needed to help her body heal from the many shocks it had endured, but just the thought of eating made her stomach clench.

“I’m really not hungry,” Jemma faltered as she tried to find a way out of having to eat. “I’m just so exhausted, I really don’t think I could eat right now.”

“Just something small,” Skye insisted. “You can’t go a whole day without eating, you’ll die.”

Jemma smirked at that – Skye was so dramatic, and she clearly had no idea how long Jemma could go without food. Her panic grew as she sat and watched Skye heat a can of soup. Skye was being so caring, giving her so much attention. So many eyes had been on her all day. She knew it wasn’t technically her fault that she had been ill, but it had caused such a fuss, and made so many people upset. She just wanted it to stop. She couldn’t sit here and let Skye take care of her as if she deserved it, as if she had earned it.

The soup was transferred to a bowl and placed in front of Jemma, a large spoon shoved into her clenched hand. “I don’t deserve…” the words came out in a whisper. Jemma shook her head and smiled wryly. “You’re being too nice, Skye,” she said, trying to make it sound like a joke.

Skye’s brow furrowed. She sat next to Jemma, swinging the bar stool around to face her. “It’s just soup, Jemma. Everyone deserves soup.” She nudged the bowl toward Jemma and smiled. “Just a couple of bites, okay?”

Something was breaking inside Jemma’s chest, and something dark and heavy was sliding out of the cracks to smother her. She wanted to be gracious, to accept her friend’s kindness and move on. But she couldn’t. This was wrong. She dropped the spoon with a clatter on the countertop, her hands forming fists in her lap.

Skye was really and truly concerned now. She reached out and wrapped a hand around Jemma’s wrist. “Jemma, you’re shaking,” she said, an edge of panic in her voice. “Are you alright?”

Jemma jerked her head up and down, but Skye kept her hand where it was, rubbing her thumb against the back of Jemma’s hand in a comforting motion. “I’m sorry. You’re probably right. You need rest more than anything.” Skye stood, and Jemma let out a relieved breath when Skye led her away from the soup and towards her bunk. She hoped that Skye would simply let her be, but no. Skye slid open the door of Jemma’s bunk and then proceeded to pull back the blankets on her bed, patting the mattress, indicating Jemma should lay down.

Jemma sighed and rolled her eyes, but did as Skye asked, trying not to show the panic that was still bubbling under her skin. Skye pulled the blankets up around her and then sat down on the edge of the bed, which is when Jemma realized that Skye had a packet of saltine crackers in her hands. She pulled a couple from the pack and waved them in front of Jemma’s face.

“Eat these, just to make me feel better,” she said. When Jemma stared at her with an incredulous expression, she shrugged. “I can’t let this go.”

Sighing, Jemma gave up. She wasn’t going to escape Skye’s attempts at mothering her, and two crackers was marginally less awful than an entire bowlful of soup. She took them, then stared back up at Skye, who was watching her expectantly. When Jemma made no move to eat the crackers in front of her, Skye rolled her eyes and stood up. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll leave you to rest.” She exited the bunk and began sliding the door closed behind her before stopping and popping her head back in. “Eat those crackers,” she said with mock seriousness, before closing the door.

Jemma stared at the saltines in her hands. Slowly, she brought one to her lips and nibbled at the edge. Her stomach let out a growl at the first sign of food, and she realized she probably was hungry. She finished the first cracker and started nibbling at the second, but her heart was fluttering in her chest. It felt wrong to take comfort like this. The day had been too much – she needed to relieve the pressure, needed to _stop needing_. The cracker suddenly felt dry in her mouth, and she crushed the rest in her fist, dumping the crumbs into the garbage can by her bed. She curled in on herself, body facing the wall, and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the hunger under her ribs and took solace in it. She didn’t need to eat. She didn’t need anything.

Skye frowned as she walked away from Jemma’s bunk. Something was… off. She could feel it. Jemma was exhausted and stressed and arguably traumatized, but her panic when Skye had tried to help, and the way she had fallen silent and refused to eat, just felt wrong. Skye shook her head and continued to walk away. She would keep an eye on Jemma from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally got a Jemma chapter! Yay! Sorry it's taken me forever and a half to update this fic. I'm going to try to do much more regular updates from here on out.  
> I'm a little nervous about this chapter. It's hard to write covert emotional abuse. I hope you understand what I'm trying to convey with Jemma's mom - some of the things she does and says seem almost normal, but she just crosses some lines and pushes a little too far. I don't mean to be critical of anyone's reaction to a loved-ones illness. It's natural and understandable for Jemma's mom to be upset about it, but maybe not so great that she takes her husband's illness and makes it all about herself. I hope that comes across, and I'm sorry if I offended anybody.


End file.
